Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. Per. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me; O, pardon, that I name them: your high self, The gracious mark o' the land, you have obseur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up: But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired; sworn, I think, To show myself a glass. Flo. I bless the time, When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. Per. Now Jove afford you cause! To me, the difference forges dread; your greatness Apprehend Fla. Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Bumbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now: Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer; Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts Burn hotter than faith. my With these fore'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine: to this I am most constant, Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have sworn shall come. Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, disguis Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race; This is an art Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers, And do not call them bastards. Per. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them: No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say, 'twere well; and only therefore Desire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To men of middle age: You are very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. That come before the swallow dares, and take Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this, Which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles; and he boasts himself He looks like sooth: He says, he loves my daughter; As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it, That should be silent: if young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Enter a Servant. Ser. O master, if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bag-pipe could not move you: he sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. Clo. He could never come better: he shall come in: I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably. Ser. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without baw dry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings: jump her and thump her; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, de me no harm, good man. Pol. This is a brave fellow. Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? Ser. He hath ribands of all the colours i' the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses; you would think, a smock were a she-angel; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach singing. Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes. Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Lawn, as white as driven snow; Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy¿ Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'st take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands and gloves. Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars. Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may be, he has paid you more; which will shame you to give him again. Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets, where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going || me.-Wenches, I'll buy for you both :-Pedler, let's to-bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets; but have the first choice.-Follow me, girls. you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? "Tis well they are whispering: Clamour your tongues, and not a word more. Mos. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. Cle. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money? Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Cle. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many par cels of charge. Clo. What hast here? ballads? Aut. And you shall pay well for en. Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any toys for your head, Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Money's a medler, That doth utter all men's ware-a. [Aside [Exeunt Clown, Aut. Dor. and Mop. Enter a Servant. Ser. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print, themselves all men of hair; they call themselves salafife; for then we are sure they are true. Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife was brought to-bed of twenty money-bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. Mop. Is it true, think you? Aut. Very true; and but a month old. Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress Taleporter; and five or six honest wives' that were present: Why should I carry lies abroad? Mep. 'Pray you now, buy it. Cls. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. Aut. Here's another ballad, Of a fish, that appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought, she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. Der. Is it true too, think you? Ad. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more than my pack will hold. Cla. Lay it by too: Another. Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune of, Two maids wooing a man: there's scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. tiers: and they have a dance, which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o'the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling) it will please plentifully. Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much humble foolery already :-I know, sir, we wea Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habited like Sa- Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.- Your heart is full of something, that does take To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd Mep. We can both sing it; if thou'lt hear a part, Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited thou shalt bear; 'tis in three parts. Der. We had the tune on't a month ago. Aut. I can hear my part; you must know, 'tis my eccupation: have at it with you. SONG. A. Get you hence, for I must go; Where, it fits not you to know. D. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither? M. It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell: D. Me too, let me go thither. M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill: D. If to either, thou dost ill. A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. Cla. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them: Come, bring away thy pack after For a reply, at least, if you make a care Of happy holding her. She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock`d How prettily the young swain seems to wash Pol. Methinks, a father With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? Flo. Pol. Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason, But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made More homely than thy state.-For thee, fond boy,- That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Per. [Exit. Even here undone! I was not much afeard: for once, or twice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly, The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.-Will't please you, sir, be gone? [To Florizel. I told you, what would come of this: 'Beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further, But milk my ewes, and weep.. Cam. Speak, ere thou diest. Shep. Why, how now, father? I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir, [To Florizel. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, Cam. Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess, You do not purpose to him ;-and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. Flo. I think, Camillo. Cam. I not purpose it. Even he, my lord. Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus? How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known? Flo. It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith; And then Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together, This is desperate, sir. Fig. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore; You have heard of my poor services, i'the love That I have borne your father? Flo. Very nobly Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music, To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. Cam. [Going. But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do; so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows. Cam. The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see Flo. There shall not, at your father's house, these seven Well, my lord, Be born another such. If you may please to think I lov'd the king; How, Camillo, Cam Have you thought on To have you royally appointed, as if |